


Knock Knock

by orphan_account



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: AU, F/F, Neighbors, Secret Santa, break-ins, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 15:25:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9130402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Secret Santa Gift Exchange fic.ORHoltz breaks into Erin's apartment on Christmas Eve. AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Hey Prioris, Happy holidays, mate! I'm proud to have been selected as YOUR Secret Santa. I wasn't pleased with just one of the fics, so expect another since I couldn't just decide on one.
> 
> Either way, I hope this makes your holidays just a little bit gayer and merry! :3

Erin finished unloading the dishwasher and placing the clean cutlery back in all the correct drawers. Shutting off the light to her kitchen, she stepped out into the living area of her deluxe single that was dimly lit by the glowing festive tree sitting in front of her window.

 

She leaned casually against the wall, taking in the twinkling white and colored lights—her parents had always been strict about having one or the other—but she always liked having the best of both worlds as an adult. There were a couple of boxes that sat wrapped neatly under the spruce twigs that only she knew were completely devoid of anything but air—simply a decoration, since she’d mailed out her parents’ gifts a week ago and she never bothered wrapping anything she bought for herself. But she loved having a tree to look at, despite her single existence.

 

It was the only decoration in the otherwise bland, normal apartment.

 

At thirty-nine, she’d always thought by now she’d have a loving husband and maybe one or two children to watch unwrap gifts on Christmas morning together while she would sit on the couch and drink her herbal tea—but life didn’t always turn out the way we plan, and Erin was no stranger to not getting things her way.

 

Shortly after college, she lost the only _real_ friendship she’d ever had, but gone on to achieve great things in the Physics world, writing several publications—many published, some still pending—she’d dated here and there, but had never truly felt _connected_ to any of them, not in the way that she thought up in her head that it would be like, at least.

 

She grabbed a decorative plate that had once belonged to her grandmother, with four Fig Newton’s stacked neatly on it and a glass of cool water, placing them both on the ledge of the window, nearest the tree. Crossing her arms in her long john shirt she shivered, despite the room temperature being a perfect 69.5F.

 

“Merry Christmas, Erin,” she whispered to her reflection in the glass pane of her window that led out into the bright New York City nightlife. She shook her head of the sadness that crept in from having opted out of going back to Michigan for the holiday, and padded her way back to her bedroom, she placed her phone on the charger—no missed calls or messages, but it was nearly midnight—and she slid under the cool fabric of her sheets before switching off the lamp and settling in for the evening.

 

\--

 

When did the world begin spinning faster than your feet could keep up?

 

Wait. No. That’s not right. Move forward.

 

Blue neon signs flashed outside of a convenience store. There was cigarette smoke lingering in the air.

 

Horns honking.

 

 _Silent night, my ass_. You huff, cold seeping into your bones.

 

An infant screaming and neighbors yelling at one another. Left turn.

 

Warmth in the pit of your stomach, almost uncomfortably so. **Swallow it down.**

 

The cool grip of a glass bottle in your right hand. Take a swig—empty.

 

 _Smash_.

 

Another block.

 

“Good evening,” Harry? Or was it Henry.

 

“Ngnh,” is uttered insensibly.

 

“Merry Christmas, Miss.”

 

Elevator. Sweet baby Jesus these lights are bright. Yellow. Filter out the hard blues. Head beginning to thud in time with a pulse. You look up and spot your reflection in the mirrored ceiling.

 

Blonde hair falling loose of its pins, blue eyes darkened by purple bags beneath them, that haven’t seen sleep for nearly a week. A broken heart in human flesh.

 

 _Ding_.

 

Key in a hand, pulled from her Velcro wallet(you love the sound it makes), pulled from stained overall pockets, some loose change clatters to the floor, as well as a few pieces of hard candy.

 

Forget them.

 

Forget _everything_.

 

Sleep.

 

Fall against something hard. A door. Head pounding still. Stomach churning. Heart racing. Perspiration on your skin makes it glow waxey in the soft hallway light.

 

Key – where is the hole? Your wallet crunches satisfyingly in your other hand.

 

Round. Brass knob, push, not pull.

 

The knob refuses to turn. With little strength left, you step back and push forward. Shoulder slamming into wood and the sound of it cracking open.

 

Face, meet floor. You groan, loudly.

 

Look up. Shake it off and crawl to bed… Where is it, again?

 

The tree is in the way—wait, tree?

 

“When did I get a tree?”

 

A gasp, and your head turns—wide, impossibly blue eyes, staring down at you. Then a blender flying… right at your face.

 

Your world goes dark.

 

\--

 

“Oh my Gods, oh sweet Einstein, Marie Curie, Ada Lovelace—help me,” Erin scrambled for something else to throw, but the soft groan and then silence paused her from dialing 9-1-1 from the cell in her other hand.

 

She turned, inching around the kitchen doorway to see the figure of her burglar sprawled out, unconscious on her floor, surrounded by pieces of debris. The figure rolled back with another groan, into the soft lighting, filtering in from the hall through her now broken door.

 

Erin blinked once, twice and then again. Blonde hair haphazardly pinned up, was loose and falling around the stranger’s eyes, face pallid and dusted pink from the cold air of the night, now marred by a scratch from the blender’s edge—it was a _woman_.

 

The redhead’s eyebrows furrowed. Of all the people in the world to attack her, this was highly unlikely, not that she didn’t realize women could also lead a life of crime—c’mon this was the 21st century, but still—

 

Erin stepped closer, and the woman’s eyebrows furrowed, another groan passing the invaders’ lips and Erin squeaked in fright, tossing the first thing she could—her phone—directly at the woman.

 

The crack of plastic against the skull of the woman made even Erin wince in sympathy as she saw the woman’s bright, nearly translucent blue eyes open, before crossing and rolling back into her head before passing right back out onto the floor.

 

“Oh my--” Erin breathed. Then realized what she’d done.

 

“Ohhh, no. No, no, no, please don’t be dead.” Erin paused, now getting a much better view of the woman’s (bruised) face. Blonde hair, high cheekbones, dimples and the most bizarre outfit—a pair of stained overalls with an olive crop top, covered only by a soft leather jacket and Doc Martens. Her hands were both occupied, one with a crumpled camouflage wallet that looked like it had been bought at a Dollar General, and the other—a key.

 

Erin was a scientist, she deduced things that others would not normally see, simply by finding out all of the facts first.

 

Fact 1: there was a stranger—albeit, a rather strange, beautiful one—lying unconscious in her living room floor.

 

Fact 2: she didn’t seem to be carrying any form of a weapon, nor was she dressed like a typical burglar, nor did she carry any sort of bag to carry anything away with.

 

Fact 3: her door was broken, and it was now nearing three AM on Christmas morning.

 

Erin cautiously bent over to grab the wallet and was nearly overpowered by the stench of pure alcohol and smoke—

 

Fact 4: this was most likely a very _unintentional_ break-in and

 

Fact 5: if not, this woman was just crazy.

 

Erin could see the rise and fall of the woman’s chest, indicating she was breathing, and she winced as she brushed her fingers along the woman’s curls and saw the angry red and purple welt beginning to form on her forehead, and the cut that was now beginning to coagulate on her cheek.

 

She seemed so _familiar_ somehow, yet Erin knew that had they met, this wouldn’t be quite as strange of a happening, and so she opened the Velcro— _seriously?_ —and found the strangers’ ID.

 

“Jillian Holtzmann, Age thirty-two. Address: 152 Westbrook Place. Apartment 14B-” Erin’s voice paused and she looked back up at the stranger. That explains why she seemed familiar. Erin lived in _14D_ , this woman—Jillian, she corrected—was her _neighbor_.

 

“Also explains that our doormen do their jobs,” Erin muttered, rolling her eyes. Glancing back down at the wo— _Jillian_ , Erin fought the urge to drag the woman out of her apartment and leave her there, but, she mused—it was Christmas.

 

“Hey… Hey Miss? Can you hear me?” Erin shook the blonde’s shoulder, but it did nothing. She was out cold. “Shoot.”

 

Erin stood, taking in a deep breath and counting slowly down from ten as she made the decision. Erin stepped over the pieces of debris and made to close her door as best she could. It took a few hard shoves, but it eventually stuck in the jamb and just prayed that no other attempted break-in’s would happen to her tonight.

 

She then took in the mess with her hands on her hips and a frown before glowering at the unconscious woman.

 

“Well, if you’re going to not wake up, I’m not going to just leave you in my way either, but you’re paying for my new door,” Erin sighed, and went to grab her drunken neighbor from under her arms.

 

“Ugh, what are you _made_ of to weigh so much? You’re _tiny_.”

 

Erin practically dragged/crab walked the unconscious woman over to her sofa, having to finagle her way through pulling her legs up onto the couch first, then off to take off the woman’s heavy boots, then back on, before reaching and pulling her bust up onto the furniture as well. She only rolled off twice—still completely unconscious, even letting out a snore when Erin huffed out “ _really?_ ”

 

She found her phone while she all but dusted and swept up the mess, but made sure to get pictures for her insurance company. Jillian didn’t move or hardly make a sound beyond the occasional snore as Erin finished cleaning up the mess.

 

She wound up eating the cookies—“Sorry, Santa”—and downing the water after she was finished cleaning everything up before she glanced to see that it was already after five AM and there was certainly no point in going back to sleep now.

 

She set the kettle on and decided to make herself some tea, glancing over at the slumbering blonde on her couch, she also decided, _since_ it was Christmas, to grab the Tylenol.

 

\--

 

A throbbing behind your already sensitive eyes tells you that today is going to be a very, _very_ bad day.

 

Mouth drier than the Sahara, you groan and wince at the pain that you find, not only behind your eyes, but all over your body, particularly your face and forehead.

 

“Wh-” your eyes open and find nothing but white at first and it takes you a minute to blink away the sleep as someone’s voice filters in through the rushing in your ears.

 

“Take this,” you make out and reach blindly for something you can hardly see. You feel hands, soft, almost gentle help you up into a sitting position on whatever it is you’re lying on because you’re pretty damn sure this is _not_ your cot.

 

You feel a glass pressed into your hand and something small—pills—placed in the other and you take them without concern that it could be potentially hazardous, you’re already dying on a physical level and as you drain the lukewarm tea, you try to swallow back the bile of shame you feel curdling in your gut like sour milk.

 

“Where am I?” you croak out, blinking around but still—the light is so damned bright and you feel like your head might split in two. You reach into your overall pocket for your glasses but they’re not there.

 

“Glasses.”

 

“You’ll get them when you tell me why you decided to break into my apartment last night—oh, I’m sorry—this _morning_.”

 

“Wha-” You blink up at the voice, it’s upset with you, but you can’t really process why or what she said. Apartment—break…

 

You push yourself forward just a small bit and that is all it takes for your body to break. Your stomach heaves and with near lightning reflexes, a pail of sorts is pushed into your front as you lurch forward and begin emptying the contents of your stomach, the pain in your head scorches like a brand and as soon as you feel like you might pass out from a lack of oxygen, you are able to breathe in the scent of your own wretch and you begin the process again until finally you are unable to hold yourself up any longer and a hand, soft and comforting, pushes your hair back from your damp forehead and another rubs your back, soothingly.

 

Tears spring to your eyes with the tender care you receive and it makes you hate yourself even more. This—this is what you tried to avoid, to forget.

 

“Mom,” you choke out before you feel yourself fall back and your world goes dark again.

 

\--

 

Erin practically screams internally at the frustration mounting at this woman having come conscious, only to get sick and then pass right back out.

 

“Seriously?” Erin was already tired from the lack of proper sleep. Now she has this completely drunken stranger on her sofa and to top it off, her insurance company was closed for the day because of Christmas and it was snowing outside with no signs of stopping.

 

She took the garbage bin she’d prepared for the woman and emptied the bag into the larger, contained garbage to dispose of later. Grumbling under her breath, she puts her kettle back on and her stomach growls so she settles to make a light lunch, hoping this time maybe she could make the woman stay up long enough to explain why in the Hell she was here.

 

\--

 

Knocking wakes you next, it’s not loud, per say, but with your head and your hungover condition—it’s deafening.

 

You groan and reach for something to throw when it stops, blissfully, followed by an alarmed voice and then hushed whispers—now, you have always had good hearing as a kid, even with your job causing _minor_ to medium poofs—but with your oversensitivity to _everything_ at this moment allows you to catch the words “police” and “charges” and it’s enough to make you come out from your alcohol-induced slumber and see well enough that you are definitely not in your apartment.

 

The first tell is because your apartment isn’t nearly so damn… _white_ and bright and looking up, you see a tree in your vision—that _definitely_ isn’t yours. The second thing you notice is the soft material of the sofa you’re sure isn’t yours and you see your covered with a beige throw blanket that feels like heaven against your fingers.

 

You nearly burrow back into your warm haven before you hear the voices again and open your eyes to see your doorman, Henry at the entrance, staring back at you, before turning back to a woman with auburn hair with an apologetic frown.

 

“Could you at least see if they’d be willing to give me something to help me shut it until my insurance company can fix it?” the redhead says. You blink again—you know this woman.

 

Not in a biblical sense—no, she isn’t like the others. But—what is she doing here? And more importantly, where the Hell _is_ here?

 

You attempt to sit up and feel the world spin and immediately your body falls back into the couch with a soft “oof” and that is enough to get both of your audience members’ attention.

 

“You’re awake,” the redhead looks somewhere between relieved and also, heavily displeased at her admission.

 

“Doctor Holtzmann, I’m afraid I have to take you to see the manager downstairs-” Henry began with an apologetic grimace.

 

“Wha-?”

 

“Did you say _Doctor_ Holtzmann?” the redhead blinked, eyes widening. “ _The_ Doctor Holtzmann of Nuclear Engineering and experimental particle physics?!”

 

“The one and only,” you grumble, sitting up and placing your head in your hands, jerking back with a wince as your fingers brush your forehead. “Ow.”

 

“Henry, it’s all right, I’ll have her come down once she’s recovered,” the redhead stated.

 

“What did I do?” you asked, fearing the answer.

 

“You broke into Dr. Gilbert’s apartment early this morning, I’m afrai-”

 

“But, I’m not pressing charges—I just. Wanted to make sure you were okay, and then find out why,” the woman—her neighbor— _Dr. Gilbert_ —stated, solemn.

 

You’d seen her before, when you first moved in about three months back, she was leaving as you were bringing up some of your things. You’d winked at her and she had smiled and blushed. You remember because you’d thought how curious it was to see a grown woman wearing a tiny bow tie and how pretty she looked when she caught your eye once more before the elevator closed between you.

 

“I’m fine—and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” you apologize, shaking your head as the shame begins to flood your veins. _Well, you certainly aren’t going to be asking her out anytime now_.

 

“It’s—it’s fine, really. I’ve been wanting a new door anyhow,” Dr. Gilbert half-smirked, trying to lighten the mood and you only felt your stomach drop.

 

“Your door-?” you glance over and see said door, swinging off its hinges and drop your head back into your hands. You need to wake up from this nightmare, you need to go back two days and stop yourself from buying nearly the entire top shelf of the bar for everyone, you _need_ some fucking Tylenol.

 

“Head--” you wince. Your neighbor graciously offers you the bottle of water you didn’t see before as well as the bottle of ibuprofen that makes your head sing with pleasure as you down the glass and three pills before dropping your head back into your hands.

 

You hear your neighbor excuse Henry and then hear him leave before the redhead attempts to close the door, with little success.

 

“I’ll pay for that,” you promise, rubbing your temples.

 

“I think we can work something out, I’m more interested in just knowing the _why_ though,” the redhead came to sit on the couch beside you and you scooch over to let her sit.

 

“I’m sorry about your head—and your face,” she winces, reaching over like she wanted to touch you, but you see her falter and then drop her hand.

 

You see her wince as you reach up to touch your own face and feel a bandage on your cheek.

 

“What exactly happened?”

 

“How much do you remember?” she quipped back.

 

“I-” you think back and know that the last clear memory you had was of the day before Christmas Eve. This time of year was always hard for you growing up, but the last two years have been even worse—

 

“I’m really, _really_ sorry I can’t even begin to tell you how horribly embarrassing any of this is—and I don’t normally do this, I have more tact about getting into a woman’s home usually-” you smirk, reverting to humor to get through the hard lump that has swollen in your throat as you grow warm under the collar and under the studious redheads’ gaze.

 

“You’re a brilliant woman, I’ve read a few of your pieces on experimental particle physics and your work on the reverse tractor beam is phenomenal,” she said.

 

\--

 

Erin could hardly believe her luck. When she’d heard Henry speak the blonde’s title, it suddenly clicked. She had not thought twice about the name when she first read it on the strange woman’s driver’s license, but she knew the name Dr. Holtzmann – renowned Nuclear Engineer, she’d nearly been accepted into CERN and per her sources, had declined the offer and moved back to New York City from Massachusetts where she’d worked under the elusive Dr. Rebecca Gorin since she’d finished her doctoral work at M.I.T.

 

Now, here she was in _her_ living room, having broken through her door and was apologizing profusely and Erin couldn’t really find it in her to be mad, when she just had _so_ many questions.

 

“You’re a scientist?” her eyes widened as Erin mentioned her work.

 

“Professor, actually – I’m teaching at Columbia. Erin Gilbert,” she holds out her hand and the blonde reaches out to shake it. Erin feels her breath hitch as a small spark of electricity, which she blames static, when their hands touch.

 

“Holtzmann,” she responds. “Holtz is fine.”

 

“Holtz,” the name feels almost familiar on Erin’s tongue as she speaks it back, savoring the name. “So, what exactly does it take to make you so piss drunk on Christmas Eve that you’d break into your neighbors apartment?”

 

The blonde pauses, looking around for something before she remembers.

 

She pulls out a pair of steampunk-like glasses with yellow lenses and places them on her eyes with a soft sigh.

 

“Better. Now,” she turns back to Erin, filters on and Erin cannot help the smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth at how incredibly _Holtz_ the glasses seemed on her, despite having only known the woman for less than twenty-four hours.

 

“This time of year isn’t easy for me, I tend to usually spend it the same way, which I’d be happy to tell you over a meal. My treat.”

 

Erin opened her mouth to argue, but her stomach beat her to the punch.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

“Wait—I never said-”

 

“Dr. Gilbert, enlighten me—it’s Christmas day and you’re in your apartment, _alone_ and seemingly in no rush to get anywhere. What’s your story?” Holtz switches gears and Erin’s mouth opens and closes several times in astonishment.

 

“I-I’m not—this isn’t about _me_.”

 

“You’re deflecting, fair enough.”

 

“I am _not_ ,” Erin huffed. Holtz grinned maniacally.

 

“Well—you can stay here if you’d like, or you can join me for breakfast and hear all about it-”

 

Holtz gathered her wits about her and stood from the—albeit _comfy_ —sofa and maintained cocky eye contact with the sputtering physicist.

 

“C’mon,” Holtz offered her hand. Erin’s mouth snapped shut and her eyes narrowed in an _almost_ believable glare.

 

“Fine, but you’re telling me everything over breakfast.”

 

“Cross my heart.” Holtz even made a motion to do so—on her right side—Erin rolled her eyes with a smile that she fought to hide as she accepted Holtzmann’s hand and stood.

 

This might be the strangest way she’s ever spent Christmas, but she’s beginning to find it might be the best one she’s ever had.

 

\--

 

“Your mother sounds like she was an incredible woman.”

 

“She was.”

 

“How’re your eggs benedict?”

 

“Scrambled.”

 

Erin snorted.

 

\--

 

“What sort of person keeps empty boxes under their tree?”

 

“One that doesn’t feel like wrapping gifts I’ve bought for myself.”

 

“That’s either the most genius thing I’ve ever heard of—or the saddest.”

 

\--

 

“You’re making that up.”

 

“I swear on Marie Curie’s grave that I’m not!”

 

“You were arrested without pants?!”

 

“They let me go, but yes, they handcuffed me when I was completely bare-assed after my pants caught fire from the _medium_ poof-”

 

Erin’s laughter caused half of the restaurant patrons to glare over at their table.

 

\--

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

“Holtz, we just ate.”

 

“That was breakfast—it’s afternoon now.”

 

“What?! Wow, we’re still here…”

 

“Sooo, lunch? Still my treat.”

 

“Fine.”

 

\--

 

Eventually, both women were asked to leave the restaurant after they spent another three hours _after_ eating lunch and sharing a pitcher of beer.

 

“Today was possibly the most fun I’ve had in a very long time. Thank you, Holtz.”

 

“Well, my mother didn’t name me Jillian Fun Holtzmann for nothing!”

 

“Bull crap!” Erin laughed, leaning into the blonde who had her arm linked through the redheads as they walked side-by-side back to the apartment complex they both called home.

 

“Alas. Yes, _that_ was a white lie,” Holtz agreed with a twinkle in her crystal blue gaze, throwing a wink at Erin and grinning maniacally when it had the desired effect of dusting the redhead’s already pink cheeks, even rosier.

 

“And the story about you saving that woman’s life in the restaurant?”

 

“Oh no, that was totally 100% true.”

 

“I’m still calling bull,” Erin laughed. Holtzmann paused as she reached out for the elevator button and allowed Erin to enter first when it pinged open.

 

“So—I was wondering,” Holtz suddenly looked away, nervous. “Maybe I could accompany you for the evening? I’d feel horrible if something happened to you because you can’t lock your door.”

 

Erin watched the blonde look down at her scuffed boots, almost bashful and felt her heart warm at the protectiveness that she felt over this amazing woman whom she’d spent the entire day with.

 

“I’d like that, but I’d hate to put you out.”

 

Holtz’s head snapped up at the answer.

 

“It’s really no trouble, that or—you’d always be welcome to stay over in mine. I have four children though-”

 

Erin’s eyes bulged.

 

“What?!”

 

“Oh, sorry, I must’ve forgotten to mention-”

 

“Holtz, you have kids?! You left them to their own? Where—how—is there a sitter?” Erin looked panicked and her worry only grew for this woman’s sanity as Holtz seemed to pause and then double over in laughter.

 

“Why—what are—how can you be _laughing_ , Holtz? This is serious!”

 

“Erin—sweet, _sweet_ Erin.” Holtz gasped in between gut-wrenching laughter. “They’re not—they’re not my _physical_ children.”

 

Erin’s face scrunched up in confusion and Holtzmann only smiled, leading her down the hall past Erin’s apartment toward 14B—Holtz’s apartment.

 

“Come on, come meet them, I’m sure they’re gonna love you,” Holtz smiled, her face genuine.

 

“What? Holtz, I’m-” but her words were silenced as Holtz opened the door and pulled Erin in by the hand, effectively silencing the redhead.

 

“Mama’s home babies!”

 

Erin’s eyes bulged as she waited on baited breath for something—anything—to happen but then noticed Holtz leaving her side for the edge of the living area where she watched as Holtzmann reached forward and opened the door to a cage and Erin’s eyes only grew wider as Holtzmann began whispering diligently and cooing as one, two, three and finally _four_ furry rodents, all of different sizes and color, leapt into Holtz, crawling all over her.

 

One leapt for her coat breast pocket, one in her hair, one on her hands and the other climbing her shoulder—not _children_ …

 

“They’re _chinchillas._ ”

 

“Erin, meet my children.” Holtz beamed proudly, walking over to Erin with a proud look.

 

“The black one is Ada, the brown and white one is Marie, the light gray is Émilie and the other, darker gray one is Al.”

 

Erin felt her body warm even more at the sight of Holtz caring so much for the rodent-like creatures and couldn’t help but fawn over how cute they were up close. Erin had never had any pets growing up, her parents being highly allergic to dogs, her father, cats and not wanting to clean cages for any other type of animal, she felt like she’d missed out on that childhood experience.

 

“Hi.” Erin said, meekly, smiling. Holtz handed the darker gray one in her palm over to her.

 

“Al wants to meet you-” Holtz smiled and Erin paused.

 

“I-I’ve never-”

 

“They won’t bite, only nibble.”

 

Erin accepted the ball of fur and fought to not drop him as she felt his tiny paws in her hands for the first time and her eyes bugged as his nose sniffed at her fingers before turning and attempting to crawl up her arm. She nearly dropped him but he managed to cling to her sleeve.

 

“Holtz-!”

 

“Don’t worry, he’s just getting to know you,” Holtz encouraged and soon the rodent had made its way to her shoulder and was sniffing at her jaw and ear and it caused Erin to let out a small squeak of surprise. Al thankfully didn’t move any further, his bushy tail just swiping her neck as he practically curled up under her jaw.

 

“Oh my.”

 

“He’s the friendliest of the bunch, I think it’s because he feels isolated being the only dude in a female home.”

 

“He’s—they’re all amazing, Holtz, thank you.”

 

Holtz grinned and tilted her head to motion Erin to follow her further into the living room where they could sit with them.

 

Erin had not realized the way time passed as they sat and turned on the TV and just allowed the chinchillas to cuddle and play around them. Holtz explained that this was usually their time anyway and that they seemed even happier to have another person to play with and Erin enjoyed getting to know them as Holtz allowed her to help feed them treats and then continue to cuddle as Holtz ordered take out for the both of them.

 

Once dinner arrived, the chinchillas were put back in their cages.

 

“They’re beggars and they’ll use you being the new person to try and swindle you out of your Kung-Pao chicken.”

 

“Good thing I ordered lo mein then,” Erin laughed.

 

Dinner was a quieter affair, a comfortable silence filled with the sounds of _A Christmas Story_ playing softly on the television as well as the movements and squeaks from the chinchillas in their cage. Eventually fed and full and content, Erin felt herself drifting off into a lull.

 

“I should go.”

 

“You don’t have to—I meant what I said. Stay,” Holtz started. “Your door doesn’t lock and I’d feel terrible if something happened to you.”

 

“Holtz, we have 24/7 security at the front door, I doubt anyone is going to break in-”

 

“I did,” Holtz deadpanned.

 

“I’m sure I’ll be just fine.” Holtz nodded, not wanting to push.

 

“Alright, I’ll walk you to yours then.”

 

Erin agreed and bade the chinchillas a good night and a Merry Christmas.

 

“You’ll have to come visit them now that they know you, otherwise they’ll think you abandoned them,” Holtz winked, obviously joking, but Erin felt her heart skip a beat at the thought that Holtz was baiting for a way to see her again.

 

“I’d like that.”

 

They paused at Erin’s door.

 

“Thank you again for an amazing day, Holtz. It was certainly— _unexpected_.” Holtz smiled.

 

“You’re welcome, sorry again about your door. I’ll make sure to replace it as soon as the hardware stores open tomorrow.”

 

“It’s fine--” Erin realized what they were both doing at this point and a silence fell over them, not unlike the one at dinner.

 

Holtz looked up at Erin, then to her door, and then back to Erin, her mouth opening, but then closing.

 

“Well-” Holtz started, Erin felt her heart sink at the tone.

 

“Good night, Holtz,” Erin smiled, weakly.

 

“Goodnight,” Erin turned to open her door. “Erin.”

 

Erin turned.

 

“What’re you doing for New Years?”

 

Erin blinked and noticed the hope floating in the blonde’s blue gaze. Erin felt her heart pick up the pace and took a deep breath.

 

 _Please don’t let me be reading this wrong_.

 

Erin leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on Holtzmann’s cheek, but landed a little closer to her mouth than what was appropriate.

 

Holtz froze and Erin could feel her stiffen under the contact, but pulled back slowly with a soft gaze. Holtz relaxed visibly, but her eyes remained wide behind her yellow glasses.

 

“Pick me up at 8?” Erin chanced.

 

A pause.

 

A breath.

 

A thousand-watt smile.

 

A heartbeat and then.

 

“It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holtzbert HoliGAYS


End file.
